Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 458: Heavenly Motion (2)

At that moment.

The boy took a step toward the sword—then abruptly stopped, his expression contorting in a grimace.

It was as if he had suddenly felt pain. The nonchalant demeanor he had maintained when he was chosen to draw Demon Sword Thundercry had vanished.

Seated atop the palanquin, Cho Il-seo furrowed his brows as well.

He slowly parted his lips.

"Is there a problem?"

"My limbs have been growing suddenly these days..."

"I know that pain myself. But your tone is strangely light. I don’t recall granting you permission to speak so informally."

"This really hurts. How did he even endure this?"

The boy muttered to himself.

There was an undeniable sense of ease in his bearing. A rare trait in times of chaos—one that belonged to a learned man.

Even the way he walked toward Thundercry, planted firmly in the ground, had an unusual quality to it. There was a faint trace of form—something structured, methodical. As if he had mastered an exceptionally special martial art.

"That bastard...?"

Cho Il-seo felt an uncanny familiarity.

Among the disciples of the great sects, where every one of them was a prodigy, there were only a handful whose talents were truly overwhelming.

The feeling they carried—an aura that inevitably seeped into those destined for greatness—was precisely that.

Martial arts, at their most primal level, were a study that elevated the practitioner’s presence.

Even if someone trained in humility, they could never completely suppress the air of a true master.

Seated on his palanquin, Cho Il-seo snapped his fingers.

In an instant—

A blue bolt of lightning appeared out of thin air and struck down toward the boy’s crown.

"Do they treat you like a king in your sect?" ƒгeewёbnovel.com

With a sudden, effortless sidestep, the boy continued walking toward the sword.

Behind him, a crackling noise filled the air—blackened scorch marks were left where he had stood. A small lightning strike had seared the ground.

He had avoided it.

And yet, there had been no sound in his movement.

His step was like a fragrance spreading through the air—silent, seamless.

There was only one such movement technique in the entire world.

At least, as far as Cho Il-seo knew.

"Silent Fragrance Step...!"

Even if someone disguised themselves in plain white garb, they could never erase the distinctive traits of their martial art.

And if it was the Silent Fragrance Step, famed among the thousand-year-old techniques of Mount Hua, it was even more unmistakable.

Seated in his place, Cho Il-seo tilted his chin slightly.

"A disciple of Mount Hua has grown bold. Do you even know where you stand?"

"Where else? Just another damned vast land where a bunch of so-called martial artists squabble over who's the king and who's a foot soldier."

"Are you here for your sect leader's revenge?"

"Why would I come for someone who's still alive?"

The boy didn't even spare Cho Il-seo a glance.

He had already arrived before Thundercry, gazing quietly at the sword’s hilt.

With his back turned to the murmuring crowd, who whispered in shock and amazement.

"The new Young Lord can summon lightning...!"

"As expected of one with the bloodline of the Celestial Emperor. Watch your words, watch your actions."

"But just now... wasn’t he called a disciple of Mount Hua?"

Despite Thundercry being right before him, the boy hesitated to move.

By now, over a dozen Taemosan disciples had surrounded him, holding up golden talismans—but he merely stood there, motionless.

Even the sorcerers of Taemosan Fortress did not act recklessly.

The movements the boy had displayed earlier were mystical, enough to rival sorcery techniques.

Even in Hangzhou, now known as a den of demons, he could be considered a powerful martial artist.

"Attack on my signal."

At Cho Il-seo’s command, the disciples nodded.

For a moment, a gust of wind swept through the bodies of Taemosan sorcerers.

Sensing the ominous shift in the atmosphere, the gathered spectators began dispersing in haste.

That was enough.

Even though Taemosan Fortress and Celestial Extremity Sect had suffered devastating losses, each losing three top-class martial artists, they were still among the strongest sects.

Especially Taemosan Fortress—when it came to sorcery techniques, the more practitioners there were, the stronger the power they could manifest.

And the Celestial Extremity Sect—one of the remaining Two Heavenly Swordsmen was the sect leader’s direct successor.

That man, one of the greatest swordmasters of this era, had already reached a level where his swordplay could shatter sorcery itself.

A man whom Cho Il-seo saw as both his destined opponent and his future betrothed.

And then there were the masters of Taemosan Fortress and the Celestial Extremity Sect themselves.

"I don’t have time to waste here, but... I can't gauge this bastard’s martial level."

As his gaze deepened—

The boy in white slowly parted his lips.

"It’s real... It really is."

His calm, half-lidded eyes trembled slightly.

Disbelief. Shock.

The boy in white, with the purity of a Daoist lineage, was now visibly shaken, as if something had disturbed the stillness in his heart.

He then lifted his gaze toward Cho Il-seo.

"You want me to pull it out?"

"I’ll admit my mistake. Even if it does come free, it won’t belong to you."

"What?"

"A relic of the dead should belong to the victor, no? The Annihilator of the Wasteland fought against Taemosan Fortress and Celestial Extremity Sect—and he fell.

"Only two sects have the right to claim this sword.

"Mount Hua has no place in this matter—"

"How utterly ridiculous."

The boy in white cut him off, grasping Thundercry’s hilt.

In that moment—

Cho Il-seo’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I think I know who you are now.

"The Zixia Divine Art completely fuses the body and qi into one... If Mount Hua’s Purple Bamboo Pill was properly absorbed into your system, it makes sense that your body would grow beyond expectation.

"You truly are the disciple of Jade Blossom Lady Yulha."

"You talk too much."

"If you even pretend to draw that sword, you will bring disaster upon yourself.

"You have no right to claim it."

"And yet, you gave it away yourself."

Boom!

A cloud of dust erupted at Yu Hyeon’s feet.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He had planted his stance firmly and gripped the hilt of Thundercry with full strength.

For an instant, the veins on the back of his hand stood prominently.

At the same moment—

Cho Il-seo tilted his chin at his subordinates.

An unspoken order.

"Kill him."

Demon Sword Thundercry.

The mark of Jeong Yeon-shin, the Annihilator of the Wasteland.

A relic of the storm that had swept through the martial world, leaving devastation in its wake.

It was a trophy that no martial artist would dare to ignore.

There was no way Taemosan Fortress would allow Mount Hua’s Hidden Dragon to take it away.

Cho Il-seo sneered.

"At least the dead isn’t without company.

"I thought the Annihilator of the Wasteland was some aloof, solitary bastard—but thanks to you, at least he won’t be lonely as he crosses the river to the afterlife."

But before he could finish—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion drowned out his words.

The sky flashed white.

It was the wave of sorcery martial arts.

Moments later, the air was filled with a storm of fire, crackling down like lightning bolts, while translucent blades of wind slashed through the atmosphere like sword edges.

It was an assault from the masters of Taemosan Fortress, who had been guarding Cho Il-seo’s palanquin.

Every single strike carried a thunderous explosion.

Beneath it all, Yu Hyeon grimaced, adjusting his grip. The Hidden Dragon of Mount Hua tightened his arm muscles.

"What the hell is with this sword? Why won't it actually come ou—!"

At that very moment—

As soon as the fight began, the crowd scattered in panic.

Then, a massive hammer soared into the sky—only to shatter midair, transforming into a shower of silver dust.

The sight was like a rain of metallic flowers blooming in the heavens.

Clang-clang-clang-clang—!

A storm of silver shards deflected the crimson firebolts and the fierce slicing winds.

Sparks of orange flames burst in all directions, accompanied by the harsh screech of metal grinding against unseen force.

The sorcerers holding talismans in their hands flinched.

"What...?"

The silver blossoms unfolding in the air were like a massive protective shield.

They extinguished every attack launched by the sorcery martial arts, which had sought to mimic natural disasters.

This wasn’t something ordinary martial arts could achieve.

This was the work of another intruder.

[I heard you were a friend of Silver Justice, yet this is what I see? Unbelievable.]

It was Six Harmonies War Saint.

A cold aura flooded the air.

[If you’re going to act like a fool, step aside. I’ll pull it out myself.]

Through the dust and chaos of the fleeing crowd, a small figure emerged.

Each of their steps was firm, unhesitant—an unmistakable gait, one that belonged only to those who had once conquered vast lands.

And there was killing intent in the air.

Not the quiet mourning of one grieving the dead, but the rage of someone venting their wrath through martial arts.

From atop his palanquin, Cho Il-seo slowly stood up.

"Ten Thousand Blossoms Rain... Could it be...?"

The question slipped from his lips, dissolving into the air.

Something was about to begin.

***

How much time had passed?

He did not know.

In the dark underground cavern, the corpse of an Imoogi coiled around itself.

Even with the stillness of the air, it radiated absolute pressure.

In this cold abyss, deep as the Bottomless Pit, Jeong Yeon-shin felt only one thing—

The sword.

The sword.

And yet again—

The sword.

The moist air weighed down his tattered robe, which had been shredded by the Celestial Extremity Sect Leader’s sword aura.

"Tai Chi..."

The darkness of the cave was overwhelming.

Was it the lingering resentment of the Imoogi slain by Three Peaks True Master?

The atmosphere felt like a bottomless abyss, as if dragging one’s soul downward.

Even the occasional drip of water in the distance echoed with an unsettling chill.

But none of it shook Jeong Yeon-shin from his thoughts.

He had long since acknowledged something.

No matter how impatient he was, there was no way he could rescue Baek Mi-ryeo in Hangzhou—

Not when Celestial Extremity Sect Leader, Taemosan Fortress Lord, and the Ming Cult Leader were all lurking in the shadows.

And who knew what other forces might intervene?

It was a land of uncertainty.

There was only one option—

To grow even stronger before stepping out.

And so, he honed his resolve like a blade.

It was not easy.

Because beside him—

There was a ghost.

[This is a disaster. Baek Mi-ryeo says she won’t learn martial arts from me.]

It was So Cheonmujuk.

She drifted nearby, reclining lazily in midair.

Her tone was polite, her posture relaxed.

At some point, the semi-transparent robe she wore had stopped shifting back into the tattered cloak she had originally died in.

It was mockery.

The way she propped her head up with one hand made it even clearer.

[She glared at me with bloodshot eyes. Sent a shiver down my spine, honestly. You don’t see that often in demon cultivators.]

[Most of them talk big before they meet me. But the moment they stand in front ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ of me, they start begging to be taught.]

Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent.

Seated in meditation, he recalled the word—

Demonic Army.

A term referring to the demons that had sought to obstruct Buddha’s enlightenment.

It was a fitting description for the ghost haunting his side.

[Then again, Baek Mi-ryeo isn’t your only problem.]

[You nearly sent Mount Hua’s Sect Leader flying. Are you really trying to gain enlightenment after that?]

Despite being in a dim cavern, her form was unnaturally clear.

It was as if she stood beneath the open sky.

Even her features, sharp enough to bewitch men, remained unchanged.

She was not the pale, lifeless corpse she should have been.

Her face was full of color, her lips as red as blood.

Reversal Demon.

How was this possible?

She should have died long ago.

"Unless she’s replacing her natural vitality with near-infinite internal energy, circulating her meridians constantly... That would explain the rapid blood flow."

Jeong Yeon-shin slowly parted his lips.

"You might be weak in a prolonged fight."

[Hmm?]

The Ming Cult Leader tilted her head curiously.

Her expression did not change.

But Jeong Yeon-shin was neither disappointed nor particularly worried about Yulha Nangnang.

The Sect Leader of Mount Hua was a master of Silent Fragrance Step.

If she truly wished to escape, there were very few in the world who could catch her.

None of the Nine Great Sects' absolute masters would risk their lives just to retrieve his corpse.

Yulha Nangnang was brilliant, compassionate—but above all, she was a leader who upheld her duty.

She was not like the Old Sword True Master, who had been gentle to a fault.

"Yes... she is different from Old Sword True Master."

[Even I can see something strange about you.]

[The entire martial world thinks you’re dead. Why don’t you just stay here and keep me company?]

Her voice snapped Jeong Yeon-shin out of his thoughts.

So Cheonmujuk suddenly leaned in close, bringing her face right next to his.

Before them—

A massive skull loomed.

The Imoogi’s head.

A gigantic iron sword was lodged into its crown.

It was a source of inspiration.

At least, for Jeong Yeon-shin, it was.

"The center of Tai Chi."

He recalled the distant past.

The time when he first studied Buddhist power—

When he sought guidance from Yuanji Master of Shaolin to fight the Blood Flame Cult.

Back then, he had searched blindly for what it meant to manifest Dharma from nothingness.

But now—

Now, he had a trace to follow.

The sword marks left by Three Peaks True Master himself.

For so long, Jeong Yeon-shin had tried to grasp his presence.

Even after exhausting the Lawful Light Technique, leaving him devoid of spiritual perception.

"It is possible."

Three Peaks True Master had forced an Imoogi to bend to the flow of Tai Chi.

What kind of force had created such a spectacle?

"Daoist Three Purities Force."

The iron sword was etched into his vision.

He did not intend to remain in closed-door meditation for long.

That was a task for rocks or monkeys.

For a fleeting existence like his, there was only one way forward—

A single, unwavering flight.